


Liebestod

by Finian



Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Depictions of homophobia, M/M, the homophobia does not go unpunished believe you me, this isn't beta'd so if you find an error hmtfu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 11:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17466638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finian/pseuds/Finian
Summary: It would be the last time he let David take him out to a shitty diner like this where they darted around the real issues their emotions brought up and elected to pick at food they wouldn’t pay for in the end.





	Liebestod

**Author's Note:**

> "When used as a literary term, Liebestod (from German Liebe, love and Tod, death) refers to the theme of erotic death or "love death", meaning the two lovers' consummation of their love in death or after death. "

Why did he have to be hot? Michael could have dealt with him being terrifying, or disgusting, or even just nice and pleasant- but hot? It was like the world was out to get him from the moment he noticed him. David just had to go and be one of the hottest- no, worse- the hottest man he’d ever seen, and Michael had seen his fair share of hot dudes.

By all means, there was nothing about him that should have been so alluring. In a pinch, he could have been replaced with any of the guys from the boardwalk, and fundamentally, nothing would have changed. It wasn’t like it was because of his vampirism, because Michael didn’t think the others had been all that good-looking… not that they were ugly. They were handsome, sure, cute, but nothing like David. Though he supposed that didn’t matter anymore.

Why the hell did David have to be so hot? It left Michael at a loss around him, torn between the need to be seen as someone who could handle himself, could handle the quick pace their lives seemed to move at, and the desire to lay himself bare for David and admit that he didn’t know, he didn’t know himself and he sure didn’t know him and all he wanted was for David to trace his body out like a chalk outline on the boiling pavement, to shape him from the stone of the cliff and send him falling in an avalanche with just the sound of his voice alone, watching the way his lips wrapped around his name-

“Michael. Mikey. Are you listening?” David sat across from him in the diner, face cast in the fluorescent red light from the open sign hanging in the dark window. “You’re thinking too much. I don’t like it.”

“Sorry- what were you saying?” Being drawn from his thoughts was never pleasant, but neither was sinking into them in the first place. It was one thing to think about how beautiful and powerful and incredible David was, but it was another thing to be there with him, at the diner. Listening to him, or rather, watching his words form and fall just short of his horrid attention span. Shit.

“You’re still not listening.” One of the hot fries found its way into David’s hand and then straight into Michael’s cheek where it burned for a moment, hot and oily, before the pain melted away into nothingness again. “I was asking if you were hungry. You’re not touching your food.”

“You’re only touching yours to throw at me.” He countered, fingers drumming along to the song filtering in overhead, against the polished wood and the paper placemat. His burger, extra rare, sat out in front of him, still warm. He really hadn’t touched it. “No.” Why do we bother getting food like this, he wanted to yell, throw the table, why do we bother holding this charade so often when we’ve been fine without it for years, but the tension and anger left him as soon as he’d noticed it. He almost liked the normalcy of it.

“I know, but I wouldn’t be throwing it at all if you’d just listen to me for more than a few seconds at a time. Do I bore you, Michael?” Do I bore you? What sort of question was that? Pissed him off, sure, made his blood- or lack thereof- boil, make him fall so fast and so hard that he might as well have hit the water that night on the railroad tracks, sure, fine, great questions. But bore him?

“Never.” It was more heartfelt than he’d meant to be, the sound carving a hole in their conversation that neither of them could see the bottom of. 

Maybe David could see the bottom of it, and he managed to hoist himself out and over the edge with another airborne french fry right to Michael’s forehead. One of these days he was going to end up with salt and oil right in his eye, and it would be the last time he let David take him out to a shitty diner like this where they darted around the real issues their emotions brought up and elected to pick at food they wouldn’t pay for in the end.

“Eternity is a long time. You might regret saying never.” He quirked a pale eyebrow at him, reaching up to card a hand through his messy hair. “What if you do, though? What will you do then?” It wasn’t a question he’d ever been asked like that before, not something he’d really gotten to thinking about. It wasn’t a possibility, as far as he was concerned, to be bored with David. Things never got boring on their own, and he was sure that if David tried to bore him, he’d fail miserably. There were days when they curled up together, silent and thinking and waiting for the pit of unconsciousness to wash over them both- and even in those moments, he wasn’t bored with him.

He couldn’t say that. He could make a joke about staking him when he got bored, but that would hit much too close to the truth of the situation, the way him and his brother had run almost everyone through already in their home and left David cowering- and he couldn’t bring that up. Strong, powerful David, hands thrown over his face, because as old and immortal as he was you were never too old to be hurt by watching your friends- your family- torn apart by a bunch of kids. (One of whom you loved.)

He couldn’t say that either. There was nothing he could say, even with so many years of speaking, so he shrugged and picked up his food instead. 

“I dunno.” How eloquent, how like him to throw himself away from a real moment, a heartfelt conversation. He almost stuffed his burger in his face, but the way that his stomach knotted up after he ate solid food turned him away from the idea, and he set it down again. Across from him, David laughed, windchimes and ringing bells in some shitty diner. “Let’s go out and get some real food, I’m sick of being in here.” As he slid out from the creaky vinyl seating, David didn’t budge, laughing still- it was infuriating, he was laughing at him and Michael couldn’t even find it in himself to be mad when he looked like an angel and sounded like a morning star cresting the horizon- and when his hand darted out to grab at his wrist to pull him down into his side of the booth he didn’t resist the motion.

David moved fast- physically, emotionally- and before Michael had even gotten settled into his side of the booth there was a hand wound tight in his hair and their lips were crashing together for a clipped moment before the beauty of being close was shattered alongside a glass a table over from their booth as a man dropped his iced tea and threatened to stand and break them apart himself.

Outside of the diner, the wind kicked up as they kicked off the pavement, arching from the sidewalk to the roof to lay in wait for that still-raving man to head outside towards his shitty pickup truck. It wasn’t often that they still got reactions like that, even now, and it never really bothered Michael. Though, he wasn’t sure that it was the same for David, the way his eyes dulled every time it happened, and for days after it was a struggle just to get him to walk closer than a foot away in public. He understood, yeah, David had been alive a lot longer than him and he knew that things must have been harder for him in the long run, but it killed him when it happened. On the other hand, though, it certainly made meal planning a hell of a lot easier.

For now, though, he rolled over on the shingled roof to grab at David’s hand, quiet, to share a smile. A wicked, sharp, yellow-eyed handsome smile, the same face that he’d almost killed and the same face that had almost killed him and his family- things were weird, then. His family, who he still visited from time to time but held no attachment to, which David had assured him was part of vampirism- along with not giving a shit about human taboos, or else every meal would be an existential struggle- hadn’t understood his decision. He wasn’t sure if they did yet, even when he showed up last christmas with David in tow in matching sweaters they’d stolen from the tackiest department store they could find.

There were moments, moments like that Christmas, where he almost lamented his choice. He wouldn’t get to be old and settle down, never really got a chance to sit down with his family and drop the ‘mom, gramps, I’m gay’ conversation before he went and ran off with David- though the looks they’d gotten that Christmas were assurance enough that he didn’t really need to mention it at all, shoulders pressed close early that morning- late for them to be up- as they stomached through some breakfast. He was almost glad that his brother was halfway across the country with his girlfriend, because he wasn’t sure that David would have been content enough to stay in the house if the guy who killed his family was there.

“Michael.” It was a whisper, faint, and David was sitting up straight on the slant of the roof. Ahead of them, down in the parking lot, the man from earlier- who had called the waitress over in his rage about seeing two men sharing physical affection in less than savory terms- was heading out towards his car, keys in hand. David waited until the engine had started and the car to pull out to move, silent and sleek as he slipped off of the roof and into the air, Michael in close pursuit. It was easy to drop into the open flatbed from the air above the car, settling in to follow their meal all the way to its destination. The ocean air was warm, even whipping past them at forty miles an hour and blowing Michael’s hair out of his face. It wasn’t often they got to go along with their meals, and Michael had every intention of stealing this beat-up old truck and driving it as fast as he could down the 3 am highways before jumping out and watching it wreck itself against a divider wall like a box of twisted metal fireworks.

The truck slowed to a stop, right there on the shoulder of the highway, and before that man could even get the door open they could hear him yelling. David stood, stepped up to stand on the edge of the truck bed, and then dropped to the pavement to light on his feet like a bird on an asphalt branch. The man, puffed up with first anger- and then with fear, as the look of recognition flickered across his features- didn’t make it much further than a few feet away from the door of his truck before David pounced.

Watching David kill was thrilling- maybe it was some long-lost evolutionary admiration for the hunter that brought home the daily meal, maybe he was just way too in love with the guy- but his defunct heart leapt right to his throat and choked him as he watched the carnage unfold. It took much less effort, seemingly, on David’s part to leave the asshole limp and toss him into the back of the truck over Michael’s head. God, he was pissed, wasn’t he? He’d always been one to play with his food- not that he was complaining about a meal, by any means, though more than once he’d assured David that he had been at this long enough to be able to get his own food, they didn’t always have to share. (Of course, that had sent David into a week-long mope about being unnecessary, that they’d only cleared it up after they’d fucked it out over their last meal, teeth clashing through layers of skin and flesh.)

He sunk down over the body- still warm and gushing- as David climbed up from the wheel well to join him in their midnight meal. Their hands brushed as they worked away his clothing, like shucking corn on the back steps on a summer day and throwing the husk down for the birds to grab, knuckles bumping together and stalling. Their eyes caught, shadowed yellow under the dim highway lighting and the glow of the moon, and then they were on each other like starving animals, claws scrabbling and opening red channels that reformed as soon as they’d been started, dripping the blood they’d just been drinking.

He didn’t taste good, the asshole underneath them, but he made a wonderful cushion for David to pin Michael down against, hands at his shoulders, his sides, his hips, roaming like he couldn’t sit still if he tried. It was these moments of frantic intimacy that made up for every fight, every tense conversation held in the back of a diner, the years behind and years ahead. And as David fucked him silly in the back of a pickup truck using a dead body for a mattress, Michael knew that eternity might not even be long enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this during a theatre history lecture, and as I got halfway through it we starting talking about liebestod as a romanticized idea. The gay vampire gods were smiling on me. I promise I pay attention in class most of the time.
> 
> If you find any errors, let me know! I don't often have people to beta my stuff. There's really not enough stuff out there for the lost boys, and considering I watch it multiple times a month, I figured I'd throw my hat in the ring.


End file.
